


Royalty

by Kyrios (orphan_account)



Category: Persona 5
Genre: Angst, Canon Compliant, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-03
Updated: 2017-06-03
Packaged: 2018-11-08 09:25:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,118
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11078724
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/Kyrios
Summary: It's what he tells himself, at least. If he were to admit to himself he wants to be loved…





	Royalty

**Author's Note:**

> Obvious, explicit spoilers for everything up to the seventh palace.

Akechi isn't a person who should be pitied. He wants praise and roses tossed to his feet, not condescending looks and high pitched voices. He's so sick of people looking down at him like he's a confused toddler, like he needs to be guided home, like he's weak and vulnerable.

 _I'm not a kid,_ Akechi thinks, and draws his laser saber. He knocks his enemies down with the spirit of a child who grew up too soon.

* * *

Kurusu is one of those people who look at Akechi with unwanted compassion. It's annoying and the disgust seeps into Akechi’s bones. The feeling of being pitied by someone like him makes his coffee taste watery and bland.

He doesn't say anything, though, because confrontation would just spoil his plans. Kurusu doesn't have to know what goes through his mind; he'll know soon enough, when Akechi’s got him pinned down with a gun pressed to his forehead.

He smiles like an ace detective should, gets up from his seat with the grace of proper royalty. Royalty is loved by their subjects because they never lash out. A good prince maintains his composure no matter what.

 _Although,_ Akechi thinks, _I'm not much of a prince anyway._

He's a mock-up prince who never had a king to teach him how to get through life. The queen is dead and his kingdom is aflame.

Better than having no kingdom at all, Akechi reasons.

* * *

Akechi kills someone while lucid once.

He finds that self-loathing cuts deeper than an angry father ever could. He can't bring himself to summon Loki—he's disgusted at himself and his body aches all over, epaulettes hanging heavy on his shoulders.

He throws up when he leaves the Metaverse. Oddly enough, he doesn't feel revulsion at all. In fact, he welcomes the bile burning in his throat.

It's what he deserves.

* * *

When he's successfully infiltrated the Phantom Thieves—finally—Kurusu asks him to hang out.

Akechi holds back the urge to raise an eyebrow. He can't look surprised, after all: he's a celebrity. People would kill to be in his place, to have their own fifteen minutes of fame, to be complimented in forums and gossip websites.

But that doesn't mean he's not shocked. People like him don't hang out with friends. Boys like him aren't welcome anywhere.

But he doesn't say leave me alone like he wants to. Instead, he asks, “where to?”

In the end, Akechi finds he quite likes tea from the Central Street diner.

He does not, however, like being vulnerable. The next time Kurusu asks him to come with, Akechi tells him he's got urgent TV business to take care of. Somehow, it feels like Kurusu sees right through him.

* * *

The rest of the team dislikes him. Which is fine, by Akechi’s standards—he doesn't care about them. His only target is Kurusu; if he gets to turn the other thieves in, fine. Que sera, sera.

It's what he tells himself, at least. If he were to admit to himself he wants to be loved…

He ends up slaughtering another one of his father’s enemies to take his mind off those repulsive thoughts.

 _I don't care,_ he tries to convince himself once he's back in his room, screaming into a pillow like a child throwing a tantrum. _I don't care, I don't care, I don't care._

* * *

He's so, so lonely.

He accepts Kurusu’s invitation to go and get some gear at Untouchable. It's not really a fun hang out—buying guns, how exciting—but isolation is catching up to him and Akechi needs to talk to someone before he snaps.

Iwai tells him about silencers and bullets and muzzles. While Kurusu isn't looking, Akechi stares at him, wonders how his body would look lying in a pool of his own blood, dirty and utterly ordinary, just like Akechi has always been—

Once Kurusu is gone, he straightens his back and rings Shido, donning the sycophant mask he's improved over time. There are a few more targets to take care of. He's not allowed to slack off.

* * *

Leviathan Niijima is an easy opponent. Akechi doesn't do much, just watches as Kurusu controls his teammates like they're pawns on a board, blindly following orders at all times. It's both abhorrent and beautiful, the way he doesn't need more than a couple words to have everyone follow his lead.

Akechi craves that, but he doesn't have to anymore. Not when Kurusu and the Phantom Thieves are surrounded by police inside their precious Metaverse.

Not when he's finally got the upper hand.

* * *

Kurusu’s corpse looks just as Akechi had imagined it a few days ago, back in that dingy airsoft shop. It makes him laugh.

* * *

Revenge melts in his mouth just as quick as he'd gotten a taste of it.

He's the one supposed to make Shido confess his crimes, not them, not these pseudo-picaresque thugs who make his blood boil. They're so pretentious and nauseating, with their false pretense of justice.

Akechi is going to take both them and Shido down, then he'll win. He's going to win. He is.

He has to.

* * *

“Under different circumstances, we could've been great rivals… or perhaps even friends,” Akechi says.

He doesn't miss the way Kurusu’s shoulders slump, just a little bit.

* * *

Akechi feels pathetic. It shouldn't be like this. He shouldn't be the one on his knees, covered in wounds and burn blisters.

He thinks of Shido staring down at him, saying how worthless Akechi is despite his greatest efforts.

He thinks of Loki mocking him relentlessly after his first murder.

Kurusu looks at him in that one way.

Being pitied is sickening.

He averts his eyes and stares at his hands. He sees scars on his knuckles from when he'd punched walls out of anger, and faint marks from self inflicted wounds, but he also sees so much blood he hadn't hesitated to shed.

* * *

Akechi realises, face-to-face with the mindless version of himself his father sees, that the look on Kurusu’s eyes wasn't pity.

It was love, like a child worrying for their sick friend. Love, like a nurturing mother. Love, like a soft embrace.

Maybe the disgust towards pity he's felt all along was just fright. Fear of being properly cared about and being expected to return it.

Then again, it's too late to rectify that properly. He wishes he'd noticed the truth sooner, in a world where there was no detective duty or treasure to be stolen—just the two of them.

What he wishes he'd said is _I wish I'd met you sooner. Not Joker, but you, Kurusu Akira._

_I wanted to unravel you with my fingertips and feel the weight of your body leaning on mine._


End file.
